I flicked my head toward the entrance. "You've got ten seconds."
"Fine," she said. "If that's what you want." And with that, she turned on her heel and stalked toward the entrance.
Silently, the others watched her go.
When she pushed open the door and walked through it, a cheer erupted from the crowd. At the sound, Imogen whirled back and flipped all of us the double bird before turning and stomping away for good.
When I looked to Becka, she gave me a tentative smile. "You know," she said, "that didn't turn out half as bad as I feared."
What could I say to that?Hell, I produced words for a living. But Becka – she left me tongue-tied and wordless, even when I should've been ranting.
And now I couldn’t help it. I smiled back.
Talk about messed up.
And if I knew Imogen, thiswasn'tover.
Chapter 61
Becka
From the car's passenger's seat, I stared at the image on my cell phone. "A trollop?"
From behind the wheel, Jack said, "What?"
I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "A trollop – that's what she called me."
Even worse, Imogen had done this on her infamous social media account, which meant that a few hundred thousand people were now under the impression that I was a boyfriend-stealing ho-bag.
Jack frowned. "When?"
I checked the time of the post. "A couple of hours ago."
Until now, I'd been utterly oblivious. The book signing had ended only fifteen minutes earlier, and we were on our way to the airport.
I'd just powered up my cell phone, only to discover that I had at least a dozen voicemails and a whole slew of texts.
In one of those texts, a friend had included a link to the original post, where Imogen had shared a photo of me, obviously taken sometime during the book-signing.
The photo's caption read,"Becka the Trollop."
Underneath the photo, Imogen had gone on to announce to the whole world that I'd run off withherguy. She'd even included my last name.
How very helpful.
I sighed.Yup. That was me. Becka Burke, Trollop Extraordinaire.
Stupidly, I couldn’t help but wish that I'd spent more time on my hair and makeup. It's not like I looked terrible in the photo or anything, but given the photo's description, I couldn’t help but feel that my appearance was just a tad disappointing – to me in particular.
Seriously, shouldn't trollops be glamorous?
Scrolling through the comments, I saw links to other news articles. I clicked on a random link and saw an image of Jack and Imogen at a charity thing in New York.
In the photo, Imogen was clinging to him and smiling for the camera. As for Jack, he was neither smilingnorclinging. Hedidn'tlook happy.
Earlier today, Imogen had called him a stone-cold bastard. In the picture, he actually looked the part.
When I glanced in his direction, he had thatsamelook.Yikes.
